


pyrrhic gambit

by Elendraug



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol, Boundary Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Pegging, Phone Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“For you sees, we are aimless hates-filled animals scamperings away into the nights.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That's what's families is. Peoples what's you hates.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pyrrhic gambit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Supergirl55 (Supergirlx55)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supergirlx55/gifts).



> For [Hearts & Guts 2015](http://hearts-and-guts.livejournal.com/profile), with the prompt: _somehow they end up playing gay chicken on the phone or over a Skype call_
> 
> Shamelessly written to [Rihanna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EzzJw-aGW4).
> 
> Huge thanks to [wartoothandnail](http://wartoothandnail.tumblr.com) and [xelias](http://archiveofourown.org/users/machinavellian/pseuds/machinavellian) for the beta; to Greg as my Australia consultant; to [Janin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenCat/pseuds/A%20Sassy%20Dog) and [Marin](http://leftoverse.tumblr.com) (whose fanart is included below) for their enthusiasm for Amber and Seth; and to my husband for supporting my late-night drunken writing efforts.
> 
> Please note this fic contains a brief mention of negligent parenting, references to misogyny and homophobia, and emotional manipulation, as well as the warnings/tags above.

“And down the road from our motel was the main attraction. That place had it all, Pickles. Fuckin’ rock climbing wall for the kids. Arcade and shit. Pub food. Victoria Bitter on draft. Didn’t think I’d ever find a beer that’d one-up Keystone Ice, but VB is it. Made some friends down here, they turned me on to it. You’re missin’ out.”

“Sounds like it.” Pickles finished off the last mouthful of his own beer, which marked the end of a case. He stared at himself in the mirror of his bar hutch, and set the empty bottle next to his alcoholic assortment for the week.

“Some cunt recognized me, called me a cashed up bogan. I told him fuck yeah, I’ve got more cash than he’s ever seen in his fuckin’ life. He threw his drink at me, but he missed. I got him kicked out. People still know who I am, years after the incident. That’s the price of fame. You know how it is.”

“It’s gotta be difficult for you.”

“Heh, nah. We’re adjusting. Reduced the security detail to a fraction of what it’d been. I’ve got this. I was born for this life. Remember when we were kids, and I told you someday I was gonna be rich and famous? Look how that turned out. It was fate.”

“Mmhm.” Pickles debated summoning a Klokateer for more beer. Then again, he was amply stocked with booze. Time to switch it up for the evening.

“Let me tell you, though. Tomahawk’s got nothing on Table Top. The motel we were staying at had a pool. A real one, not an inflatable one. TV mounted to the wall in our room. Fuckin’ 90s lookin’ duvet with fuckin’ abstract shapes and shit. Got all the amenities. Gave ‘em an okay review. Docked a few points for not giving us free breakfast, but they didn’t give us shit about all the noise, so it evens out.”

Pickles rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Would’ve stayed there longer, but we had to keep on schedule to see more big stuff. We hit up the Big Pineapple a few months ago. Had to make sure my kid got to see the real thing for himself before watching it get ruined in the fuckin’ media. Fuckin’ Spongebob.”

Pickles braced his hand on the bar. Various empty wine bottles and half-empty fifths rattled as he let his weight rest on it. With his other hand he held the dethphone closer to his ear, careful to avoid its spikes. “Uh huh.”

“So this place, they got fuckin’ kids running all over the place. Me and Amber, we figure hey, we can lose our kid in this crowd, right? There’s a bunch of parents around. Plenty of people. Somebody’s gotta watch him if we go off for a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Pickles tapped his fingertips on the scuffed wood surface of the bar. God, had he gone through the Laphroaig already?

“Yeah, so. We ditch him. Heh, we ought to name him before he starts preschool, probably. We’ll get around to it. Anyway. So we drive a few blocks back down to our motel room, and we’re both drunk as fuck, and she’s crazy horny, you know how chicks get—”

“ _Dude_.”

“So she—hold on, I gotta change the jet settings for the hot tub. You know this thing gives fuckin’ massages? I just sit in here all fuckin’ day.”

Pickles sighed. “I know that. I _have_ one.”

“I know you do. You don’t got fuckin’ exclusive rights to jacuzzi ownership. So Amber, she pulls off her top, right? And I tell her, the window’s right there. You’re a fuckin’ slut. Look at you. But she just laughs, she doesn’t care. Can you believe that? We’re on ground level. Cartoon lookin’ pub, they’re being sued right now or something, copyright infringement, heh. Who cares. Cartoon pub right down the road, she’s got her tits hanging out in full sight of anybody passing by.”

“Ugh, Seth.” Pickles rubbed at his face with his free hand. “I don’t want to hear this, dude.”

“No. Shut up, listen for a second.”

Pickles chose a more impressive whiskey and poured himself a generous glass. The first of many, for sure.

“Motel room. Not a hotel, there was some confusion at the pub with that. Yelled at the manager. Anyway. Amber tells me she’s got something she brought from home. I think, okay, maybe it’s from our fuckin’ porno collection, right? We could watch a movie. We’re on vacation, got a TV on the wall. But no, she pulls out her strap-on, and I’m thinking, why would you bring that here?”

Pickles snorted. “Why would you bring that at all, though?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Pickles could hear the faint churning of water. “No, dickwad. I’m saying it’s too much work if you’re not at home, is what I’m getting at. So she says hey, we don’t gotta worry about ruining these towels, so let’s fuck on ‘em. And _then_ , I notice she’s got the wrong fuckin’ lube. Women, right? Packed the wrong shit.”

The nose on the whiskey was a small comfort. He swirled it in his glass. “Yeah.”

“And I point this out. Amber, babe, love of my fuckin’ life. You brought the sucky lube. Not that it’s good to suck, heh, it’s not. Don’t get me wrong. It’s the kind that dries up in five fuckin’ seconds, and you gotta keep adding more but you’re not exactly fuckin’ excited anymore because you got lube all over your fuckin’ hands.”

Pickles abandoned his half-assed efforts of moderation and downed all the whiskey he’d poured.

“You drinking? I’m smoking. I can hear you gulping. Swallowing, whatever. So then you’re stuck wiping your hands on any stuff you got nearby and it kills it. Anyway. She’s real pumped to do this, right? So she starts going for my pants. Says we can just use the rest of the bottle, not like we were savin’ it for anything, and we got all these extra towels from housekeeping after four fuckin’ phonecalls to the front desk so we might as well.”

This story wasn’t going anywhere. “Okay, but _why_ are you telling me this?”

Seth scoffed. “Wow. Fuckin’ asshole. Like I can’t talk about my sex life? I’m a fuckin’ adult. You’re a fuckin’ adult. Grown ass man, bro. Grownups should be able to discuss the intimacies of their lives with their fuckin’ trusted family.”

It had been a mistake to take the call. Pickles huffed. “Get on with it, then. You’re taking fuckin’ forever.”

“Are you trying to rush me off the fuckin’ phone? Fuckin’ bond with me a little. Okay, fine. So we’re in full view of anybody in the pool. Our window’s right there. She gets her phone out, and she’s [_plowing_](http://40.media.tumblr.com/858ceaabae284659a77cb8dc09a5d550/tumblr_n5wxhxguSR1t1y3vao1_1280.png) [me](http://40.media.tumblr.com/8fc778d73fc92f3ddf1acf42f812cc20/tumblr_nj2xtexXmm1t1y3vao1_540.png), [right?](http://media.tumblr.com/d08c0dde6ff96f8708e612b6e132482c/tumblr_inline_nj2xsluIkz1t0zg9c.png) And then—”

“Oh god, that was a mental image I did _not_ fuckin’ need.”

He heard water slosh from an abrupt change in posture. “You got a problem with my wife? You got a problem with Amber, you got a problem with me.”

Pickles narrowed his eyes and propped up his phone between his ear and his shoulder. High time for another drink. “It’s just, y’know. It sounds fucking gay.”

Seth laughed, a short breath that he stopped just shy of clucking his tongue. “Are you for fuckin’ real right now? Beautiful fuckin’ woman having sex with me, and that makes me fuckin’ gay?”

“Dude, lady or not, that’s a dick in your ass.”

“Tell me you’ve never put something up your ass.”

Pickles flinched. The dethphone stabbed into his cheek, but not hard enough to draw blood.

“And don’t lie to me. I’ll know. You’re my brother, I fuckin’ know you better than you know yourself.”

The nape of his neck tensed. His gut twisted. Pickles listened to the ambient noise of a hot tub current circulating on the other side of the world.

He uncapped the whiskey and drank directly from the bottle. He licked the liquor away before he attempted an answer. When he spoke, it was under his breath, and directed toward himself and his own abysmal judgment. “Why am I having this conversation?”

Seth’s response came without hesitation: “So hang up.”

Pickles sheltered the phone against his ear and glanced to his bedroom door. Locked. Why wouldn’t it be?

Seth exhaled slowly, probably with cigar smoke. “We’ve all done it. Man up and just fuckin’ admit it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” Pickles leaned back against the bar; his weight threatened to topple his collection and its varied states of consumption. “Not for a while, though.”

Seth snorted. “That’s your loss, then. Heh, Amber wants me to let her fuck me every fuckin’ week. And I fuckin’ let her. You know why?”

“Because ‘turnabout is fair play’ or some shit like that?”

“No. I mean, yeah, that. I guess. But no. It fuckin’ feels good. For such a fuckin’ rich bitch you could be a little more hedonistic, don’t you think? All high and mighty on your fuckin’ drum kit. I’m the head of one continent’s distribution, and I jack off in the hot tub every fuckin’ day. Somebody else worries about the water quality. Not me. Not my problem. And you? Fuckin’ up the global economy, spoiled rotten, and you’re squandering resources, _bro_.”

Pickles snatched up the whiskey and took a sizable swig. “I can’t jack off in my hot tub, douchebag. The other guys are in there, constantly.”

“I feel bad for you. Honestly, I do. That’s what they’re made for, you fuckin’ chode. Just don’t ride the intake valve like fuckin’... that kid from what, _Guts_? Heh. The jets, though.” Another splash of water; another gradual breath. “This is the fuckin’ life.”

Pickles looked again to the door. He brushed aside the temptation to double-check the doorknob. Thank fuck they’d put the dethphones onto separate lines after the initial fiasco.

Water sloshed rhythmically. Pickles’ abs clenched. His room had been built to mute his drums, but he lowered his voice anyway. “ _Seth!_ ”

Seth’s reply was breathier than before. “Amber’s got this vibe that I fuckin’ love. Waterproof, too. Should’ve fuckin’ brought it in here. Hindsight’s 20/20, Pickles.”

There were too many questions to ask: what had prompted this discussion, why he’d picked up the phone in the first place, why he hadn’t shut the fucking thing off already. That train of thought was accompanied by a host of unexamined emotions, but primarily guilt. Guilt left only one option, and that was to tilt the whiskey back until he’d chugged through the burn with the ease of decades of binge drinking.

When his blood alcohol level finally caught up with and overwhelmed his tolerance, he justified unzipping his jeans.

On the other end of the phone, Seth let out halting, grunted sounds Pickles hadn’t heard since he was still living in Tomahawk. This time there was no wall between them to muffle it. Nostalgia, revulsion, and titillation combined to form a bizarre mixture that blended into something manageable but still volatile. 

Pickles licked the taste of whiskey out of his mouth and swallowed audibly. “What else does she do?”

“You ever get a reach around from a chick?” The water movement could’ve drowned his words, but Seth had evidently kept the phone close to his face. Pickles wondered if it’d been on speaker, earlier. “It makes you fuckin’ think. About lots of shit, but mostly that it’s better than touching yourself. Only for a while. It’s got fuckin’ diminishing returns. She starts gettin’ tired, you gotta start jerkin’ it on your own.”

The balance of his liquor shelves had become iffy at best. Rather than face a floor full of shattered glass, Pickles relocated to his bed. The dethphone was clammy against his cheek. “Once, uh… once a week, you said?”

[ ](http://leftoverse.tumblr.com)

It felt conspiratorial, like building a basement fort out of bankers boxes, filled with all the paperwork Calvert had organized meticulously and then found arranged into so many bricks; like screwing around in the woods when they were supposed to stay in the backyard, and concocting a cover story in tandem so their alibis would match when someone inevitably got scraped up; like spiriting away the occasional Guinness stored for so long it’d collected dust on the stairwell; like finding the magazines Molly didn’t know Calvert kept hidden with items they’d salvaged from the garage, and nabbing the back issues that weren’t as well-worn, that wouldn’t be missed.

“Yeah. She used to suck at it. Girls don’t know how hard thrusting is until they’ve gotta do it, but she got better. Got more practice. Now she almost puts me to fuckin’ shame. Almost.”

Pickles swept his tongue over the pad of his thumb, just enough to lubricate his efforts without committing himself to getting up to grab actual lubricant. He gripped his dick in a loose fist and exhaled. “That’s fuckin’ hot.”

“Heh, you think so?” Seth’s voice gentled for a brief moment, then returned to its usual caustic tone. “I got the most gorgeous woman in the world, and I’m no fuckin’ pushover. No shit we’re hot.”

“Yeah.” Pickles moved his hand faster but kept his hold light. “Fuck.”

“You should try it sometime. Find some girl, some groupie. Some slut. Let her bend you the fuck over and go to fuckin’ town. Or fuckin’—” Seth’s breath hitched. “Fuckin’ take you from the front and press her tits up on you while she’s pounding your ass. All fuckin’ slicked up, get your fuckin’ legs wrapped tight around her hips.”

Pickles clasped the speaker closer to his ear. Sweat clung to the shell of the phone. “ _Fuck._ ”

The more force he used to get himself off, the more difficult it was to hold a conversation. Pickles turned his head and trapped the phone between the pillow and his cheek. With Seth’s ragged breathing in his ear, it was tough not to imagine Amber easing him down onto a resort bed and having her way with him, exactly how he wanted it: her nails tracing across his back, her hands holding his thighs close to her harness, silicone slipping in and out with each learned thrust. She was always on that goddamn phone; maybe she’d stop to snapchat the scene. Maybe Seth knew. Maybe he let her.

Seth came first, vocalizing choked and guttural over the phone. Pickles pictured his hands on Seth’s neck in the studio, on the stage of a reception hall, in his bed in Mordhaus or Wisconsin.

Pickles tugged his shirt up and out of the way just in time to come on his stomach. He pumped his fist for the duration of his climax, then held his hand still and listened for any scraps of speech he might’ve missed. Seth panted in shallow bursts, but said nothing. Pickles wiped his hand on the sheets, his perception colored by the dual endorphin rushes of orgasm and alcohol.

Pickles smiled into the pillowcase, despite himself.

After another minute of long-distance companionable silence, Seth broke it. “So. I probably should’ve said this earlier, but I didn’t. I forgot to tell you. I record all my calls, incoming and outgoing. Doesn’t matter. That’s not a threat.”

Heat and tension burned at the back of Pickles’ neck. “You motherfucking piece of shit.”

“It’s a precautionary measure. Ask your lawyer. Ask that guy who’s your lawyer. You gotta understand, right? It’s a liability, talking to you. Look what happens. Look what goes on when shit gets outta control.”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“Hey, I said it’s not a threat. Fuckin’ give me some credit, all right? I don’t fuckin’ exist to manipulate you, even though you are my brother and it’s fuckin’ clockwork at this point. Although maybe one, two million dollars of hush money wouldn’t go amiss, huh?”

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Pickles ground his molars. Ofdensen could cover it up. It wouldn’t take much to doctor the audio, to release the “correct” version, if it got to that point. Of course, that’d require _involving_ Ofdensen. He was sure their manager had some advice for any situation, even one as unfortunate and rife with scandal as this, but Pickles didn’t want to hear it. This nightmare couldn’t risk reaching the Dethklok Minute.

Or worst of all, if his _mother_ caught wind of it? She’d inexplicably defend Seth.

“I’ll fuckin’ wire it to you tomorrow. Don’t say fuckin’ _anything_ or I fuckin’ swear to god I’ll fuckin’ _kill you_.”

“Tomorrow, yeah. Yeah, I can pencil that in. ‘Receive lucrative transfer from krillionaire brother.’ Got it.” 

Even separated by multiple time zones, Pickles could practically sense Seth’s shit-eating, lopsided grin.

Seth started another sentence. Pickles disconnected and threw the phone across the room.


End file.
